Not a day goes by without feeling the pain of his people, a great pain that always struck the hearts of the personified countries hearts. Whenever a person died, at any given moment a sharp prick went through their hearts. It happened constantly since people die every minute whether it'd be from disease, murder or any other form of death, the prickling never stopped. It only got worse during wars and mass murders. Especially when it was tied to the magical world.

England was no exception to that. These past 11 years (and even before that) have been taking its toll on the old nation but his body has definitely been getting a worse beating these recent 3 years.

This Voldemort guy has the bloody nerve to go around on killing sprees with his Death Eaters, and its obvious the Ministry has poorly executed the proper measures to take them out. Its blown out of proportions and even the Daily Prophet has started to call this the First Wizarding War.

England sighed heavily, keeping a steady hand on the chair. After another shaky breath, the weathered nation straightened up and attempted to take a few steps forward. It was in vain as he fell into the next chair in coughing fit, blood with it.

Dear Lord he could not go to the World Meeting in this condition but he couldn't not go either. Missing out on a few World Meetings (Oh you know 8 but who's counting?) was enough to get his boss yelling at him for his uncharacteristic behavior. Oh if only he knew what was happening in the magical world right now.

But alas his boss, being a muggle, wasn't all to keen on hearing about 'flying people' and 'chocolate froggies that jump at people' (just one time he tried to give his boss a chocolate frog and he never hears the end of it) and his boss is still unable to comprehend the dire situation at hand that results in England's poor health.

Even if he wanted to England could not interfere with the magical world, especially now considering there's a mass murderer on the loose who, if the rumors are true, is trying to find a way to achieve immortality.

Imagine England, a personified country waltzing up to the Ministry of Magic offering help, then having it plastered all over the Daily Prophet about a man claiming to be the actual country of England. A lot of witches and wizards wouldn't be pleased hearing about a seemingly immortal man and if even word about it got to the ears of Voldemort, well, who knows because would England rather not dwell on what sort of torture would occur if captured by him.

So to please his boss (mainly to get him off his back), England pulled on his jacket straightened his back and placed a mask of maturity and power on his face. Lets hope the pale skin and heavy bags under his eyes didn't give him away too quickly.

October 27, 1981

It's really displeasing to have a World Meeting at France's place. God he 'd do anything to not have a meeting at his place. Merlin's Beard it was like walking into his worse nightmares and one he couldn't wake up from either.

England leaned against the clear door of the building, leaning his head back and trying as discreetly as possible to not hack up blood. If any other nations saw him like this h-

"Yoooooooooo England! What's up bro?"

That high cheery American voice was not music to his ears.

Why now of all times America. Why. .

"Hey dude, are you ok? Did you sleep at all like, ever? That's some heavy baggage under your eyes." America inquired inquisitively, a hint of concern in his voice.

England sucked in a breath and turned to America, "Who the bloody hell do you think you're talking to? Of course I'm all right. Not all of us can be so cheery in the morning, some of us actually work."

England turned and started his walk towards the stairs. He's so grateful that it's on the second story and he didn't have to walk up too much. He just had hoped he'd walk up it alone.

America jogged up to him quickly and fell in sync with his slower than normal pace.

"Jeez dude I'm sorry I was concerned, no need to be so rude Iggy."

All England could do was roll his eyes and look the other way. He was even tired to try and retort to that old name of his.

America was no dunce and it was obvious that England wasn't doing well. He's a grumpy old man who never was too tired to try and comeback at someone.

America looked over him from head to toe, noticing his outstretched hand on the railing for support, which he shouldn't need, his more ruffled hair and the dark eye circles underneath his weary eyes. Those beautiful green orbs that America loved looking at only held distress, worry, and anger against his paler than usual complexion. Anger towards whom, well that was a question that England wouldn't answer, even if asked.

America sighed and kept his pace with England, to make sure he didn't drop unconscious.

Arriving at the meeting room was a great relief to England, taking in a deep breath and stepping towards the nearest chair and dropping down ungracefully in it.

"Hey England, that seat is saved for Kiku."

England looked towards the Grecian man at his left, who looked tired as ever, and once laying his eyes on him, Greece looked a bit shocked at the state of England. Good to see he had more than one emotion.

"Well I'm sorry for the bother, Greece," he seethed out, "but if you wouldn't mind I'll be taking this seat."

Greece blinked twice and looked to America in question.

"Ah- sorry about this Greece, but would you mind if I sat next to him today?"

"No need for that America. I'd rather have silence beside me than hearing your obnoxious voice spouting nonsense."

England shifted uncomfortably in his chair so he could face towards the middle, turning his back on America.

"Wait a min-"

"Oho~ Look who finally decided to show up hmmm?" said a sweet, song-filled voice.

England resisted the urge to punch him.

America looked at France then back to England's sagging shoulders crouched over the table.

"Oi, England, say something." France spoke again, irked that the English man is ignoring him.

"Shouldn't you be hosting a World Meeting, France?" was the only audible thing coming from the slumped over man.

"Why you little-"

America grabbed France's shoulder, shaking his head. France's eyebrows rose in confusion and taking one look over of England, France agreed to America's wish and headed towards the front.

Oh this better be quick England thought, trying to muster up energy to pay attention.

And quite frankly, it did not go as quickly as England had hoped for. Barely 2 minutes in and all hell broke loose. Voices shouting over one another that only kept going into, what was it now? England eyed his wristwatch. 46 minutes had passed.

Bloody hell this would never end. He was able to keep his coughing to a minimum and every other minute America would look over to him then continue his arguing with all the nations. At least the Grecian to his left gave him some peace and quiet.

Don't worry, just half an hour more the-

Coughing erupted from him that stirred Greece and woke him from his slumber. Greece looked at him and for once he didn't have any signs of sleep but he looked genuinely surprised. Oh dear God this coughing was the worse yet.

England covered his mouth that was spurting out blood everywhere. Spain looked at him incredulously from across the table and America and France stopped their arguing. One bye one the nations looked to England.

"What the bloo- [cough] –y hell are you all- Ack!"

England grabbed his chest grabbing a fistful of clothing. His heart hurt so much. His people were dying.

Bastard I swear I will kill you.

England forced himself up and made way for the door as quickly as his weak knees could get him.

"Wait England!"

Britain sighed and leaned against the door, his vision becoming blurrier with every blink. Everything around him became dull until he finally closed his eyes and dropped to the floor.